


Cottonmouth

by fullyajar



Series: For Our Eyes Only [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Kink Meme, Season/Series 01, Sexual Content, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1538111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullyajar/pseuds/fullyajar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana and Brittany get high with Puck, Matt, and Mike, and Santana confuses the rules she had set down for Brittany. </p><p>Part of a series in which various Glee club members catch glimpses of intimate moments between Brittany and Santana over the years, as they grow from friends with benefits to lovers and more. In this instalment, Mike glimpses a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mike

**Author's Note:**

> Also a fill for [this prompt](http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/28110.html?thread=30704846#t30704846).

If Puck hadn’t told him about it, Mike thinks he would have missed it – especially since he’s getting more baked by the second – but now that he knows, he can’t seem to focus on anything else.

“Pass it here,” Santana drawls languidly and reaches for the joint Puck is extending to her. Mike sees her grab Brittany’s knee to steady herself, but when she sits back, her hand doesn’t move. Brittany glances down, and smiles subtly.

Mike shakes his head to clear the wonder and the fog, and can’t help the giggle that rises to his throat. Matt looks at him in amusement and joins in the strange giggle.

He hadn’t believed Puck at first. No friggin’ way are Brittany and Santana having sex. He’s known them for a few years – Brittany from dance classes and Santana – well, because everyone knows Santana. Brittany is ditsy and strange and lives with her head in the clouds so much that even while they danced, it had always seemed to Mike that she was somewhere else entirely and that her body responded to his touch and his moves of its own accord. He loves dancing with her. It’s hard to find a partner that responds as beautifully as Brittany does, that challenges him to try different things, that laughs when he twirls her and doesn’t shy away from eye contact and intimacy. They’ve never had sex – though they’ve touched plenty. With the physicality of dancing, lines blur between simple moves and loaded touches, and it’s hard to resist pressing for more. And with a girl as gorgeous as Brittany, Mike sometimes wonders why he hasn’t done so. But something always held him back. A reluctance to blur the line even further, perhaps. A fear of changing things between them, of losing her as a friend. So, even in moments where their faces were inched apart, his hand pressed strongly in her back and his heart beating in his throat – he resisted temptation.

Santana, he knows _of_ , more than he knows her, per se. She’s aloof, she mean, she’s sexual – in a predatory sense than reminds him so much of Puck sometimes, it’s eerie. She doesn’t open up to anyone – especially Puck – and Mike has wondered if she’s really happy at all in her forced solitude.

Except, of course, that she has Brittany. In the many times they’ve talked after class, Brittany speaks of no one else, and it’s clear she cares deeply about her. And Mike has seen that the only times that Santana truly smiles, is when Brittany is looking at her and paying attention to her.

Just as she is now. The brunette glances at the girl beside her and smiles. With his new knowledge, Mike tries to see between the lines – to see the distinction between friendly and intimate that Puck had told him they had crossed. The smile is friendly enough. Santana’s hand sliding up on Brittany’s leg, her fingers disappearing almost imperceptibly into the shadow of the junction between Brittany’s legs, is anything but.

He smirks at the discovery. Puck has noticed as well, and they catch each other’s eyes. Honestly, Mike isn’t usually so lewd, but the weed has him buzzing and giggling and tunnel vision is kicking in like crazy, and he can’t seem to focus on anything but Santana’s hand slowly sliding between Brittany’s legs.

The blonde is taking a hit, drawing the smoke into her lungs slowly, but then Santana shifts her body somehow, and Brittany takes in a surprised breath that turns into a billowing cough as she expels all the smoke.

“Brittany, don’t waste it!” Puck chastises, taking the joint from her. “You have to hold it in, otherwise it doesn’t work.”

“I’m sorry,” Brittany sputters as her coughing dies down, and she shoots Santana a look that’s half annoyed, half amused.

“Seriously, that was like a fourth of the joint,” Puck murmurs.

“Well, share it then,” Mike pipes up. The others look at him in confusion. “Shotgun.”

Santana’s eyebrows shoot up while Matt and Puck nod in enthusiasm. Then Brittany deadpans: “I can’t drive.”

The group erupts in hysterical laughter as Brittany looks on in confusion. There’s a bemused smile on her face, and every time anyone looks at her, they start in another giggle fit. It’s typical, it’s predictable, and it doesn’t seem to want to end. Puck is slapping Matt’s thigh instead of his own, and doesn’t seem to realize. Matt keeps mimicking grabbing a steering wheel and sending himself into even more giggles. Even Santana is laughing openly, her voice wheezing and so high it’s approaching frequencies only dogs can hear. At the end of the laughing fit, Mike has tears in his eyes.

“Come here,” Santana suddenly purrs before the laugher has even fully died down, and before any of the guys can blink, she’s grabbed Brittany by the neck, pulled her close, and is kissing her.  The blonde whimpers in surprise, but doesn’t pull back.

Puck whoops with glee, Matt is laughing again, and Mike just looks on in surprise. Puck leans forward excitedly, drinking in the unexpected display. Mike can’t help himself – there’s something completely intoxicating about seeing girls kiss in general, but seeing Brittany and Santana kiss goes above and beyond. Santana kisses the way Puck has described that she screws – hard, rough, without mercy. She pulls Brittany’s lip between her teeth, and the blonde whimpers again. She presses forward hard, tongue slipping between Brittany’s lips, who opens her mouth instantly, letting Santana take the lead and letting herself be pressed back into the couch. Santana’s fingers curl into Brittany’s hair, and Mike sees Brittany wince when she pulls. Still, she doesn’t pull back, and lets Santana kiss her – a wet, open-mouthed, hungry kiss that Mike can’t deny is one of the hottest things he’s seen in a long time.

After a minute, Santana pulls away. Brittany whines and pushes forward again, and Mike tilts an eyebrow; she looks like she actually enjoyed it, and wasn’t just doing it for show. As quickly as the whine starts, Santana cuts it off with a sharp look and a gentle but firm push against her shoulder. Mike glances at Matt and Puck, who are still drooling and don’t notice the subtle exchange.

Santana smirks at the attention she and Brittany are getting, and winks suggestively at Matt, who nearly falls of his chair.

“That’s so hot,” he murmurs in response, and Mike agrees wholeheartedly. Santana’s grin widens, and she flips her hair cockily. Brittany, Mike notices, isn’t lapping up the attention as much – her hand is sliding subtly over Santana’s thigh, where the brunette grabs it and stops its trek.

“Give me the joint,” Santana commands, and takes a deep drag of it when Puck hands it to her. She leans forward again and presses her lips lightly to Brittany’s, who eagerly kisses her again. Santana pulls back, still holding in the smoke, and shakes her head. She snaps her fingers at Mike in annoyance, and the message is clear: _Explain it her._

“You gotta take in the smoke, Brittany. Breathe it in when Santana breathes it out. That way you can get twice as high. It’s a smoke kiss.”

Brittany nods in understanding, but her eyes haven’t left Santana’s face. They flit from her eyes to her lips, and she subtly licks her own lips. They part in preparation when Santana leans close again, and it’s the lightest touch of lips on lips – so light they could have been hovering instead of kissing. Santana’s eyes close, but Brittany’s stay open, and she’s still drinking in Santana’s face with a look of wonder like this is the first time they’re doing this. Puck had mentioned that he hadn’t actually seen them kiss before, and this definitely looks new to the both of them.

Smoke billows from Santana’s lips, and Brittany breathes it in, painfully slowly, the smoke drifting lazily between their open lips and obscuring the guys’ view. Puck whines, a mix between annoyance and arousal, and leans forward to waft away the smoke, but Mike’s hand shoots out to stop him. He’s not sure why, but something is telling him to leave it be, to leave _them_ be. He knows Brittany – he’s been close to kissing her, to feeling her in a completely different way than dancing, and though she’d mentioned that she finds him attractive and wouldn’t mind hooking up with him, she’s never looked at him the way she’s looking at Santana.

Brittany’s hand comes up to Santana’s cheek as the smoke runs out, and when it clears, they’re still kissing – and really kissing now. The first kiss had been urgent, hard, and with just a bit too much tongue to seem… genuine – but the light touch of lips on lips for the smoke kiss has softened Santana’s lips. She’s probably light-headed as hell, as well, Mike muses, and it shows, because her eyelids are fluttering and her neck is loose where Brittany is holding her, lolling lightly into the touch. Brittany’s lips are molding across the brunette’s slowly, and it’s clear to Mike that Santana’s giving in, letting go, no longer in control, in command. He’s not sure what’s changed, but there’s a soft smile on her lips and she’s giving herself over to Brittany’s kiss as though the rest of the world has disappeared. Her hand is cradling Brittany’s face with an achingly tender softness, and her fingers are tangled without pulling. Brittany’s free hand is fluttering uncertainly around Santana’s body, first brushing lightly over her arm, then resting on her thigh, then hooking around her waist and pulling her close. Mike realizes he’s been holding his breath, the tension in the moment building up so slowly that he’s light-headed though he hasn’t taken a hit in at least 20 minutes.

Puck, of course, doesn’t feel the tension – doesn’t seem to know Santana at all, despite the time he spends sleeping with her – and shifts forward in approval, a lewd _Holy shit_ slipping from his lips.

Santana freezes, her fingers tightening on Brittany’s arm around her waist and her eyes flying open. Instantly, she jerks away from Brittany and shrugs the blonde off her gruffly.

“What the hell, Britt?” she shrieks, her voice raw and high.

 _Woah._ The change is like flicking on the light in a movie theater – any intimacy, any softness, any blurriness that the darkness had provided is gone in an instant, and the bright light of the reality seems to burn Santana somehow because there’s a betrayed look on her face that comes so unexpectedly, Mike wonders if he somehow missed a part of the story. Then it’s gone, and there’s just anger. The words are spit with venom, and Brittany pulls back in shock; She doesn’t try to hide her confusion or her hurt, and Mike isn’t sure she could if she wanted to.

“Get off of me.”

“Hey, calm down, it’s all good,” Puck drawls, reaching out for Santana. She slaps his hand away, and scoots away from Brittany. “Don’t stop now,” Puck adds, and Mike could slap him.

Santana still looks like a cornered animal, angry and feral, and Mike can see her mind working for a quick way out of whatever danger she’s imagining. He glances at Brittany, who is looking down guiltily, glancing up at Santana apologetically once in a while like she’s broken some unspoken rule.

There’s a pause, and Santana takes in the guys, whose gazes have never faltered from the mesmerizing display. She sees their confusion at the sudden stop, and then her eyes land on Mike. He’s as confused as the guys, but the inkling, the hint of understanding, that had got him to subdue Puck when the smoke cleared is still there, and he realizes with a jolt that Santana sees it on his face. Before he can compose his expression, she steels her jaw and glares at him defiantly.

Suddenly, Santana swings her leg over Brittany’s lap and recaptures her lips with a growl. Puck whoops again, slapping Matt on the leg.

Brittany’s head bends over the top of the couch with the force Santana is exerting on her lips – she kisses her with crushing lips, an open mouth and a fierce tongue; she bites her lip and pulls it between her teeth until Brittany hisses in pain and Mike frown with concern; she grapples the side of the blonde’s head and digs her nails into her scalp almost viciously. Brittany’s breathing is ragged, and her hands come up to Santana’s face slowly, but Santana brushes them away and move them to her ass, squeezing them into her dress in a gesture that borders on obscene. Puck nudges Matt approvingly, grinning at the show.

Which is what it is. Mike is frowning. He can’t deny he’s turned on, but beyond that, he’s concerned. Brittany looks like she’s enjoying it, but it’s with a desperation tinged with guilt and a hope seeped in apology. Like she feels she deserves Santana’s unnecessary roughness, a punishment.

Mike looks away.

The joint is smoking lightly in an ashtray, and he picks it up and takes a hit as Brittany and Santana continue kissing and Matt and Puck grin their enthusiasm.

Perhaps it’s the weed. Perhaps he’s imaging things. Perhaps it’s just what it is – a sexy show fueled by a silly high.

But when Santana finally pulls away with a cocky grin, making a show of curving her body as she sits back on the couch, and Brittany nearly follows her lips again before stopping herself and frowning in confusion – Mike realizes he’s not imaging anything at all.


	2. Brittany

It takes a moment for the smoke kiss to really kick in – besides the emotional kick it gave, of course – but when it does, Brittany’s face goes numb and she feels the muscles in her neck give out. With a happy sigh, she lets her head fall on the edge of the couch and rubs her hands over the duvet under her. She’d never noticed the texture of the fleece, and it feels like every ridge in her fingertips is catching on the fabric and sending happy vibes to her brain. She runs her eyes over the ceiling, the dim light refracting and changing as she glances around. There’s a strange sensation in her lips, and she wonders if it’s the lingering kiss or the inexhaustible smile that’s plastered firmly on her face.

She closes her eyes and lets the high pull her along. Matt and Puck are chuckling about something, and Santana is lying lazily beside her. Somehow, she’s always aware lately of where Santana is. And in this state, she can practically feel the heat radiating off of her. There’s only a few inches separating them, but Brittany feels them acutely. The kiss lingers on her lips – all three of them. She smiles even wider.

The first – it’s the surprise, the push, and her eager response that she remembers.

The last – Santana’s tongue and teeth and scraping nails leaving scratch marks on her neck. She still feels the sting of them, but it tingles more than anything, dulled by the strange numbness sliding through her.

And the second…

Her mind stalls for a second, and her smile falters. She doesn’t know what she should remember or feel about that one. There’s too much.

She lets it be, and closes her eyes again.

When she opens them again, it’s to Santana’s soft lips by her hairline, her breath condensing on the shell of her ear. “Wake up. Come with me.”

Brittany can’t say she’s instantly awake, but she complies without a thought, letting Santana guide her by the hand. She steps gently over Puck’s legs, who’s passed out on the couch and snoring lightly. Mike is AWOL. Matt is on the deck with a beer, staring up at the stars. She scrunches her face in a smile, because stargazing sounds really amazing right now. She can practically hear the aliens buzzing for her to come out to be abducted again.

Still, she follows Santana dutifully when she leads her upstairs to Puck’s guest bedroom. She stands expectantly by the bed, looking around curiously. Her fingers itch to start feeling the rough quilt on the bed, but she holds back. Then there are two arms circling around her from behind and she takes in a sharp breath of surprise.

“I want you,” Santana whispers before her lips slide along her neck and suck just below her ear.

Brittany responds instantly, bringing a hand up to Santana’s neck to guide her kisses and encourage her and pushing her body back again.

“I want you too,” she replies, and her voice is throaty and rough. Her mouth is dry as wood chips again and her eyelids are heavy with arousal as much as being stoned.

Santana’s hands undo the button on her jeans, and then her fingers slip beneath her panties and slide between her wet folds. She gasps at the suddenness of it, and hears Santana chuckle into her neck, biting hotly on her skin.

“Right here,” she murmurs with a jolt of her hips that sends Brittany staggering forward. Her elbow and upper arm hit the wall, and she steadies herself as Santana pushes her against it, the brunette’s fingers still sliding wetly under her waistband. Her head falls forward with a gasp and a load thud when Santana’s fingers delve further, deeper, and two digits curl into her. Her other hand has roamed under her shirt, and Santana’s hand is under her bra, kneading and rolling her breast with skilled fingers.

It’s only been a few weeks since the first time they did this, but somehow Santana’s gained skill in this so that Brittany felt she was only faking the confidence in the beginning. They’re not playful – not usually at least, and the few times they were, Santana got weird and Brittany woke up alone, so she usually avoids it now – so Santana never really gets the chance to try out different things. Her confidence in making Brittany moan has grown, nonetheless, but it’s always in rough and fast quickies between classes; it’s heated grinding sessions into soaked panties when Santana calls (a simple “I want you”) and Brittany climbs into her bedroom through the window; it’s like this, like they are now – Brittany pressed against a wall with Santana’s fingers buried deep inside her, biting her neck and whispering her desire in her ear.

Sometimes she thinks she wants more, but she doesn’t really know what ‘more’ is. Santana had called them “friends with benefits”. Brittany doesn’t understand, because when they’re making use of the benefits, there’s nothing friendly about it. She’s not _really_ complaining – her hips are canting against Santana’s fingers and she’s moaning in pleasure – but sometimes… Sometimes she wants them to be in bed the way they are as friends, so that she can understand Santana with more than her muscle memory.

“Get out of your head,” Santana growls, and Brittany snaps out of it. The weed has her mind turning and reeling, and she lets her head fall back on Santana’s shoulder when a spell of dizziness hits her.

“God, you feel so good around my fingers,” Santana murmurs into her ear, licking lightly. She’s sliding her fingers in and out in a steady rhythm, and Brittany can feel the delicious ache and stretch of it all through her body, amplified by the weed. Her skin is tingling, and when Santana rolls a nipple between her fingers, she whines and pulls at Santana’s scalp with the fingers entwined in her hair.

“You like that?” she purrs, and repeats it, harder. “I bet you’ve been aching for me all night. Thinking about me _fucking_ you against the wall – or maybe right there on the couch, for everyone to see and hear.”

Brittany moans with a mix of loss and arousal when Santana’s fingers slide out of her and press on her clit. She whimpers.

“Too – _oh_ – too much…”

Santana relieves the pressure slightly, but presses her hips against her from behind, urging Brittany to set her own pace against her hand.

“Come on, rub yourself against my fingers. I know what you like.”

Brittany can feel herself getting close, Santana’s lewd words spurring her on as much as the slick feeling of Santana’s fingertips over her clit. Her hand is still on her breast, kneading and squeezing; her mouth is sucking at her earlobe; her hips are grinding against her ass, pushing her into her hand in the front – and it’s like Santana’s everywhere at once. Brittany’s light-headed, her mouth is dry, her breathing fast – so fast, like she can’t slow down, she doesn’t want to slow down. Everything is slowing down around her, and she needs to – she wants to go –

“Faster,” she hisses, grinding herself against Santana’s hand. Santana complies.

“Come for me,” she whispers, and it’s enough to push her over the edge with a strangled cry. Her fingers tense in Santana’s hair, her hips jolt, and she feels her orgasm everywhere – from her fingertips to her toes to her _brain_ and it’s bizarre and wonderful and very new. It’s in the lights sparking in front of her, in the tingling of the smile on her face, in the Santana’s ragged breathing in her ear. She doesn’t realize how loud she’s being, how unchecked her moans are as she rides against Santana’s hand, until Santana covers her mouth and she whispers a silencing command in her ear.

She tries, she honestly tries – but everything is fuzzy, and she couldn’t really care less at the moment.

With a heady laugh, she slumps against the wall when her orgasm subsides, Santana still wrapped comfortably around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hours to write, seconds to comment! Let me know your favorite part/sentence/moment! Constructive criticism is also always welcome.


	3. Mike

Mike wakes up with cottonmouth like you wouldn’t believe. He’s basically had to rip his tongue from his palate where it got stuck in his open-mouthed snore. He wipes the sleep from his eyes, and looks around.

Right. Puck’s room.

God, he’s thirsty.

Dizzy too.

He rubs his temples with slowly responding fingers, and swallows thickly. He likes getting stoned – it can be a load of fun with the right people and the right mood – but the side effects are very irritating.

At least he doesn’t have the munchies. He doubts if there’s anything to eat in the whole house.

A spell of dizziness hits him again, and he groans – so he almost misses the sound coming from the hallway: a low moan.

He strains his ears, and hears it again, louder this time.

Curious, he finds himself tiptoeing toward the sound. He expects to find Matt puking and moaning (he tends to drink too many beers when he’s high) or Puck doing god-knows-what to the memory of Santana and Brittany’s heated make-out sessions. He’d be lying if he said the two gorgeous girls aren’t still on his mind as well.

What he finds, however, stops him dead in his tracks.

The door is only slightly ajar, but the lights are on and flooding the dark hallway. Santana is wrapped around Brittany, pressing her against a wall, one hand jerking in and out of her panties while the other is pushing underneath her shirt. Her lips are on Brittany’s ear and Mike can hear low murmurs and Brittany’s appreciative responses.

Something tightens inside him, and it freezes him on the spot, the light of the room just illuminating his searching eyes. Santana’s rhythm has him mesmerized, and he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. He’s not sure he does. He’d seen them downstairs, the show they put on for the guys – but he’d seen more than that, more than either of the other guys had seemed to. He’s still not sure what to make of everything. But he’s beyond curious, and this chance to get some answers is too good to pass up.

Besides, he _is_ a teenage guy, and he’s always been a horny stoner.

“Come for me,” drifts through the open door, and Mike’s mouth sags open, his already ragged breathing drying his parched mouth even more. Brittany moans loudly, each heaving breath coming with a dry cry of pleasure. Mike looks down the hallway nervously, hoping Puck is still passed out and Matt is out of earshot. Then Santana muffles Brittany, and some of his concern dissipates.

It’s a few more moments before Brittany slumps against the wall with a rich laugh. Mike smiles at the surprising sound, and something happy jumps inside him. He cares about Brittany – more than he realized – and seeing her this happy… it’s good.

“That was so hot,” Santana purrs, extracting her hands from under Brittany’s clothes. Brittany jerks slightly, and then turns in Santana’s arms. She’s grinning again, and Mike smiles. He realizes he’s almost exactly in her line of vision though, so he moves subtly out of the light. She doesn’t see him. Her eyes are focused exclusively on Santana, and Mike can see why: the brunette has her fingers in her mouth and is sucking them clean. Mike’s eyes widen. He hasn’t seen anything so lewdly sexy in a while, and Brittany seems to share his sentiment, because with a raw growl, she launches herself at Santana and kisses her.

Santana’s reaction is familiar – it’s the cornered animal again, pulling away, pushing away – and Mike thinks there must be _something_ Brittany’s doing that scares her, but he can’t for the life of him think what it is.

Santana’s retreating until the back of her legs hit the bed, and Brittany catches her before she falls down. She’s pulled back from the kiss, but her arms are around Santana – the way he holds her when they dance, Mike thinks suddenly – and she’s in her personal space, but Santana lets her be, frozen though she is.

“No kissing again?” Brittany asks, and there’s the sadness and confusion in her eyes that he had seen downstairs after Santana had pushed her away after the smoke kiss.

Santana opens her mouth to speak, searching Brittany’s face, but nothing comes out, so she closes it and just nods.

Brittany sighs. “I guess I’m not so smart, because I don’t get it. You kissed _me_ downstairs.”

“You’re very smart, Brittany,” Santana comforts, running a hand nervously – Mike can see her hand shaking – over one of Brittany’s arms circling her waist. “I’m sorry I’m confusing things for you. I was really feeling the high…” she trails off and looks away, then pushes on with determination. “Downstairs… that was for _them._ It was just silly and didn’t mean anything. If there’s people watching, we’re just friends making out – it doesn’t mean, anything, okay?”

Brittany frowns, but nods.

“But when we’re together – there’s no one there, no one to impress – it’s just sex. Just making each other feel good.”

“But kissing feels good…” Brittany suggests.

“No!” Santana snaps sharply, and Mike frowns. Brittany looks just as taken aback, and Santana deflates somewhat. “I’m sorry. The two of us, it’s just sex, okay? When either of us is horny. No kissing.”

“Okay… So other people around – we can kiss and it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Not always!” Santana says suddenly, as though she’s afraid Brittany will grab her and kiss her in the hallway on Monday. She clears her throat to remove the desperation. “Just… I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Okay. But why did you get weird again downstairs when we kissed the second time?”

There’s a pause, and Mike holds his breath – he wants to know the answer just as much as Brittany.

“I – ” Santana frowns, but then shakes her head and just repeats, “It doesn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. It didn’t mean anything.” Although there’s a frown on her face, she seems to accept Santana’s explanation, and nods. Then she says slowly, with clear effort at understanding: “And when it’s just us – it’s just sex and it doesn’t mean anything, so no kissing.”

“Yes. Exactly.” Santana nods resolutely, but Mike can see the way she’s worrying her lip between her teeth, and he knows her certainty is a mask, if not a complete lie. There’s a pause, and suddenly a wicked smile on Brittany’s face again.

“Can I kiss you other places than your lips?”

Santana looks relieved. “Of course… I’ve given you plenty of hickeys already,” she jokes.

Brittany’s wicked smile widens.

“I wasn’t thinking of your neck.”

Santana raises an eyebrow curiously, and suddenly Brittany pushes her down on the bed and pulls up her skintight dress insistently.  Mike’s eyes widen, and he feels like maybe he should go because this is going down really, really fast – but he’s frozen. His palms are sweaty and his mouth is like parchment. When Brittany pulls Santana’s dress over her head and kisses just below her bellybutton, Mike swallows thickly and presses a hand against the doorframe to hold himself steady.

“Oh my god,” Santana moans in shock, and she pushes herself on her elbows with wide eyes and an open mouth, panting in surprise and trying to catch Brittany’s eyes worriedly.

“Britt-Britt,” she murmurs, swallowing nervously when the blonde looks up from where she was starting to inch Santana’s panties over her hipbones. “Are you – are you sure you want to do this? I mean, we haven’t ever – you’ve never – this – I…” She trails off, and her wide eyes hold Brittany’s. The blonde tilts her head with a smile in reply.

“Hell yeah,” Brittany supplies enthusiastically, and then continues with a playful rasping of her tongue past her teeth: “Besides, my mouth is really dry and I have the munchies.”

Santana squeals, a high, indignant sound tinged with laughter at Brittany’s audacity. Mike sees Brittany smile brightly at the unexpected positive reply to her playfulness. He gets the feeling they don’t laugh very often _during_. He doesn’t expect anything else from Santana. His quirks his lips in a sympathetic expression he wishes Brittany could see.

“Cottonmouth,” Santana says through a laugh.

“I don’t know what cotton tastes like. It’s more like woodchips.”

“You’re _hilarious_ ,” Santana says sarcastically, smiling down at Brittany.

“Yeah, I am, but you’re not going to be laughing in a few seconds,” Brittany replies suggestively, and then she pulls Santana’s panties clean off and presses her lips between her legs.

Mike’s mind short-circuits, and everything starts moving in slow motion. He watches as Santana gasps and falls back on the bed. Her hand trails down her body and hovers over Brittany’s bobbing head for a second as though she’s thinking of twining her fingers in the blonde’s hair, before retracting and grabbing hold of the quilt on the bed instead. Mike frowns. _Curious._

Santana’s head tilts back and she presses it back into the bed, her eyebrows pulled together in an almost pained, vulnerable expression, and her lip between her teeth – Mike assumes to keep from crying out. She’s quiet – strangely quiet. Puck had mentioned the way she basically cursed him into submission a few weeks ago when he’d come across she and Brittany together. He knows about her dirty mouth, and though she cries out _“Fuck”_ or “ _Right there,”_ and _“Faster”_ once in a while, in between the words, she doesn’t make a peep. No soft, encouraging moan – though Mike can see her tense her grip on the quilt as Brittany goes down on her. No gasp of surprise – though her eyes shoot open once in a while (so Mike knows there is surprise), she muffles the gasps. No cries of pleasure – though her thighs are quivering and she’s struggling to keep her hips steady. Brittany’s pleasuring Santana on feeling and on expectation alone, and, Mike realizes, on counting on the fact that she knows the brunette well enough to predict when she’s close, even when she’s completely silent.

Mike shakes his head incredulously. He doesn’t understand it.

Brittany looks up from her position between Santana’s legs, her lips shining with evidence of Santana’s arousal. She drinks in Santana’s shaking form, roaming her eyes over her half-naked body hungrily, and smiles.

Mike feels a pang of guilt. In intimacy, the position rates highly, and he shouldn’t be here. And yet, intimate though it is, Santana is clearly desperately holding back from it. Brittany’s smile, on the other hand, is open, happy, almost innocent. It’s such a contrast, and Mike’s heart goes out to her. He doesn’t understand it fully – the haze in his mind is still very heavy and things are both literally and figuratively blurry at the moment – but he can _feel_ something in this moment other than a direct reaction to what he’s seeing. An undercurrent. A discord. A problem that runs deeper than an issue about kissing in private.

He looks back once more, taking in Santana’s straining form as she bites her lip to keep quiet and Brittany’s eagerly moving face, and turns away quietly, going down the hallway and the stairs.

Puck is still passed out on the couch, and he thinks he can hear Matt groaning in the bathroom (predictable), so he goes to the kitchen and grabs a glass of water. It feels like only a few minutes when he hears footsteps coming down the stairs, but the clock on the wall tells him half an hour has passed and he hasn’t moved an inch from his seat at the kitchen island.

Brittany looks into the kitchen and smiles widely. Mike smiles back.

“Hey!”

“Hi.”

“Santana and I are going home. Will you tell Puck and Matt tomorrow?” She bounces lightly on the balls of her feet. Mike notices the button on her jeans is still undone.

“Sure.” A silence falls, and Brittany frowns.

“Are you okay?”

Mike looks at her, and she’s smiling so honestly, so openly, that he wonders if he’s made everything he saw tonight up in his head.

“Yeah.” A beat. “Are you?”

The answer is instant.

“Of course, silly. Why wouldn’t I be?”

With that, she bounces out the room and to Santana’s no doubt waiting company. He hears the front door close behind them.

She’d answered so quickly. Mike frowns. He could have imagined it all. He could be wrong. He’s been wrong before.

But he _knows_ her. He knows her well.

And, secretly, he wonders if maybe _she_ ’s the one that doesn’t know the answer to the question he asked her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hours to write, seconds to comment! Let me know your favorite part/sentence/moment! Constructive criticism is also always welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Hours to write, seconds to comment! Let me know your favorite part/sentence/moment! Constructive criticism is also always welcome.


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